All the Days After
by A.J. Parker94
Summary: The Doctor crosses paths with a grieving soul by chance. Who better to confide in her about loss than himself? One-Shot.


**A/N- Hoooo, boy, was this one a real piece of work to get through.**

 **As most of you are aware, 2016 has been a terrible, terrible year. And I wholeheartedly agree. And even worse because earlier this year, I lost my uncle, who I was very close to, to suicide.** **After that, I was in a pretty dark place for quite a bit.**

 **But after several months, talking to people, speculating, and finally accepting the reality, I managed to pick myself up and make myself do the thing that always manages to lift my spirits up: I write.**  
 **And as a result, I came up with this piece. Because my uncle was the only other family member besides myself who liked _Doctor Who_. And for other obvious reasons. **

**This show, man. It really is one of the best shows ever created.**

 **I used one of my not-so-well-known-yet OC's, Sam, as the character in question, and the Twelfth Doctor. For a long time, Eleven was my go-to Doctor in times of trouble, but after watching "The Time of the Doctor" and onwards, I fell completely in love with Peter Capaldi's Doctor. He is a goddamn gem!**

 **.**

 **Warnings: Brief mentions of suicide.**

 **Disclaimer: _Doctor Who_ belongs to the BBC. I only own my OC.**

 **For my uncle. In loving memory.**

* * *

 _"The day you lose someone isn't the worst. At least you've got something to do. It's all the days they stay dead." -The Doctor_

* * *

The wind picked up against Sam's back as she walked on the sidewalk through the town park, causing her to shiver slightly. She pulled her burgundy coat tighter around her, burying her already rosy face into her long, thick, black-and yellowed-striped scarf. A few locks of her chestnut blonde hair managed to free themselves from the confines of her wool cap, and she quickly brushed them out of her face. She trudged on for a while, her hazel colored eyes staring ahead unfocused in thought, until she found a wooden bench positioned in not far from the playground. She glanced at the bench pensively, slowing to a stop in front of it. After a brief moment of consideration, she went over and sat herself down, glad to be off her feet for a bit. She allowed herself to relax back against the backrest and sighed, gazing out at the scenery before her.

The entire park was empty— the children's large playground and winding nature trail like a barren, untouched land. Considering that it was a cold, grey December afternoon, it would be normal to expect absolute silence and no sign of sentient life.

Just the way Sam liked it. Just the way Sam _needed_ it— especially on a day like today.

Taking out her mobile phone, she checked the time and date. 5:17 pm. December 14.

The fourteenth.

Sam closed her eyes, exhaling through her mouth with a slight shake, her breath fogging against the cold, before reopening her eyes and putting her phone away.

Five months. It's been Five months.

Five months since her uncle was taken from her.

It was hard to believe that it's been that long; it still felt like it was only yesterday that it happened. She remembered every single detail of that dreadful day vividly; she doubted she would ever be able to forget it, no matter how hard she tried. She remembered the exact time she had gotten the call, and what she was doing beforehand. She remembered that she was just settling in after a long morning at work, when the phone rang and toppled her whole world. She remembered feeling completely numb as she and her mother got in the car and hurried to their uncle's neighborhood. She remembered calling her siblings, letting them know what had happened as they went to the house next door to her uncle's, because the police had roped it off. Her mother angrily trying to reach her father at his work but failing. The ambulances that came _without_ the sirens blaring— because they already _knew_. Her grandmother screaming and crying as the rest of her family tried to calm her down, her hands trembling, because she was the one who found him.

 _"_ _Your uncle has just—"_

Sam furiously shook her head, frantically pulling herself out of her black reminiscing. Her heart was beating faster, her chest hitched, making it harder for her to breathe. She inhaled and exhaled heavily through her mouth, trying to calm herself down, as she felt hot tears forming fast in her eyes. After what felt like forever, her racing heart gradually slowed to its normal beat. She sniffed, wiping away her tears that were streaming down her now colder face. She swallowed hard, feeling nauseous. She was grateful that there was currently no one else around to see her like this.

That's been happening quite a lot lately— the anxiety attacks. She couldn't recall exactly when they started to get this bad. She couldn't say that it was right when her uncle had died. Sure, she was sad— devastated, even. But to her surprise, she was actually quite calm then, even at the funeral. She'd assumed that the reality just hadn't quite hit her yet.

It was all of the days after when she began to feel truly affected.

Sometimes, her attacks would occur completely at random. She would think about her uncle— even dream about him the night prior— but it wouldn't happen until much later. The worst episode she had was during a lecture in one of her classes. She thanked God or whatever deity was out there that the nearest bathroom was right across the hall, so that no one else other than her classmates saw her breaking down when she ran out of the room. She stayed confined in that small bathroom stall for a whole hour before she could bring herself to face the world again.

Sam's mother had heard about the incident afterwards, and her mother insisted that she take a couple of days off, try to talk to a counselor, _somebody_. But Sam had refused. She didn't want to have to make up any school and work days just because she was sad, and she certainly didn't want to talk to some stranger about how she felt.

She thought that because of her breakdown at school, she'd got it out of her system and that she'd finally be okay. But she wasn't. It just kept on happening. She'd lost count how many nights she didn't get any sleep.

It got to the point where Sam stopped going straight home after school and work, on account of her mother or anyone else there trying to talk to her, make her open up. She didn't need to talk. She just needed some time to herself. She spent most of her afternoons and weekends out; mindlessly browsing at the shops, not buying anything, finding a lonely corner in the book store and reading in silence for hours.

Or spending her time out alone in the cold in the park, like she was doing now.

Sam let out another long breath. _You'd think after five months, I'd at least be over it. But…_

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper; a post-it note that people put on refrigerators to remind them of things. She held it out in front of her, gripping it firmly in her hands. She gazed down at it, her thumb caressing over its surface, over the familiar handwriting in black ink. She smiled brokenly, more tears flowing from her eyes, as she remembered the day her uncle gave it to her, at her high school graduation party:

 _Sam,_

 _Two pieces of advice:_

 _1)_ _Don't sweat the small stuff._

 _2)_ _It's ALL small stuff._

 _I love you more than words can say. And I'm always just a phone call away._

Her smile crumbled as she read the last part of her uncle's note for the millionth time. _I'm always just a phone call away._ Not anymore.

And that wasn't the worst part about it. The worst part was that even when he was alive, she didn't call him as much as she should've. If she had, he probably would still be here, and didn't end up…

"Excuse me!"

Sam was suddenly ripped out of her plagued thoughts when a man's voice pierced through the silent air, making her jump in shock. Quickly wiping her eyes, she looked up to see that there was indeed a man running across the playground towards her. At first, Sam was taken aback by the man's appearance as he came closer. He was tall and gaunt, his wavy hair multiple shades of grey. He wore a white button-down shirt under a black waistcoat, and over that a long, black, three-button jacket that was velvet red on the inside; along with black trousers and black Oxford shoes.

 _What a strange looking man_ , Sam thought.

The man slowed to stop a couple of feet in front of her. Catching his breath for a brief second, he asked her in a rapid-fire, "Have you seen a box around here? Not just any box, mind you— I'm not simply browsing around here. It's about yay tall—" he raised his arm up as high as he could make it go, even standing on the tips of his toes, "— blue, has a flashy light on top, says Police Box on it."

Sam simply stared at him, barely understanding a word he was saying, and not just because of his gruff, Scottish accent. But what also threw her off guard was his face, now that he was close enough for her to properly see. He had a fierce look about him, with his bright, icy blue eyes, and thick, dark grey, expressive eyebrows that seemed to permanently arch in an intense, almost angry way. He definitely had an intimidating look about him.

"Well? Have you seen it or not?" the man pressed impatiently.

Mentally shaking off her surprise, she answered as steadily as she could, "Nope, haven't seen it. Sorry."

She lowered her gaze from him, expecting him to simply run off and be on his way. But he didn't, instead pressing her even more.

"You sure didn't see it?"

"Pretty sure."

"Really?"

"Yes," she said through gritted teeth that time, growing impatient herself.

"Are you _absolutely_ sure? It's important."

Sam sighed in exasperation as she glared back up at him. She stuffed her note back into her pocket. She didn't notice the man's eyes flicker once down to her pocket before she replied curtly, "Sir, we haven't had any box that you've described here since never. Trust me, if I ever saw it, I would let you know."

The man frowned at her, his eyebrows furrowing, but Sam held her ground, frowning right back.

"Fine," he finally grunted in frustration, turning around and walking away.

 _Finally,_ Sam thought with relief, _now I can be alone— no, wait, wait. He's coming back._

She groaned audibly.

Well, he didn't exactly come back _to_ her. It was more like he had walked away only a few steps, only turn around, then repeat the action over again; he was pacing. He ran a hand through his hair, irritated. "She's been gone for hours. She should've been back by now."

 _She?_

Sam watched him with an arched eyebrow as he continued to pace and mutter to himself under his breath. Her eyes flickered around her awkwardly before they landed back onto the man. "Umm…" she started uncertainly, "So…uh, what happened to your 'box'? Someone steal it?"

"No," the man answered without even sparing her a glance, not slowing his pace. "She's just gone. She disappeared. There was a malfunction in the stream dispatcher. She must've dematerialized to repair itself. Of course, she had to leave me here in the process." He grumbled that last part bitterly.

Sam just stared at him. _His box is a 'she' and it disappears. Okay, then._

"What kind of box has a gender and disappears on you?" she asked, mostly to herself.

"The kind that travels through time and space."

 _…_ _what?_

For a long moment, neither of them said anything, Sam looking away and the man continuing to pace. Every so often, she glanced at him cautiously.

"So, uh…has this happened before?" she questioned after a while.

"More times than it should, yes," the man replied.

"Well, then…" she hesitated, not believing what she was going to say next, "…your box left you on its own. I'm sure it'll come back to you on its own soon."

The man stopped and shot her a challenging look. "How do you know?"

Sam shrugged, looking away and crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't. I just want you stop your pacing and get on. Besides, you said it's happened before, right? What makes this time any different?"

He didn't respond that time. It was silent between them once again for a while. Eventually, to Sam's upmost surprise, she heard him approach her, then sit down on the bench beside her. She glimpsed sideways at him.

"Sir, no offense, but I want to be alone right now," she said.

There was also the fact that she didn't want to sit with a possibly deranged man, but she wasn't going to voice that opinion.

"I got a hunch that you've been alone for quite some time. I think you can stand to have some company for a little while," the man said, his voice losing some of its previous gruffness ever so slightly that it startled Sam into turning her head to look at him properly. Their eyes locked for a moment, until the man looked away and added, "Besides, if my box really is coming back to me, as you say, I might as well be comfortable."

Sam stared suspiciously at him before letting out a resigned sigh. "Fine."

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Sam."

"Oh," he paused, frowning a little, "for Samantha?"

"…Also yes."

He nodded sharply in acknowledgement. She figured that they were going to fall into another uncomfortable silence, but she was wrong. A few seconds later, out of nowhere, the man asked her, "Why were you crying?"

She looked at him, affronted. "What?"

"You were crying earlier. I can tell, not just because I saw you, but there are still traces on your face, and when you were looking at that piece of paper in your pocket."

Sam flinched when he mentioned her uncle's note, but didn't say anything. She glared down at the ground before her, biting her lip to keep from telling him off.

"Plus, I've lived for a very long time, and I've learned to see through anyone's façade. You looked sad…you _still_ look sad," he finished in a low voice.

Sam lifted her head back up, taking a deep, long breath. She spoke in an even tone, "Look, mister…"

"Doctor."

A corner of Sam's lips twitched up a little in amusement. "Mister Doctor?" she said drily.

The man scowled at her. "No, just the Doctor. _The_ Doctor. Don't start bantering; I do _not_ like bantering."

She put her hands up in surrender before lowering them. "Okay, okay. Well, with all due respect, _Doctor_ …how I'm feeling is not really any of your business."

"No, it isn't," the man— the Doctor— said. "But I've been reliably informed on more than one occasion that I, apparently, have this face that makes people want to tell me things. Still don't really know why, but I do the best I can. I'm here to help, after all."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Like, help in general? Or me specifically? Because I don't recall ever seeing you before now."

"In general. But now, I think, since we're both just sitting here, you might as well. What have you got to lose?"

 _My dignity? My sanity, perhaps?_ she mentally replied, but didn't make it known.

After looking him over one last time with a conflicted expression, she let out a soft sigh and relaxed back against the backrest once more. "It's…" she started, unsure how to begin, "It's nothing, really. I just lost someone very close to me, a while back."

The Doctor blinked, then gazed intensely at her. "I don't think that's nothing," he said with a harsh sincerity. "Who did you lose?"

"My uncle," she said. "He died five months ago today. It was very sudden to me."

"If you don't mind my asking, how did he die? What happened?"

Sam's jaw clenched, hesitant to answer him. Ever since, she would tell people that her uncle had passed, but she was adamant about specifying how it happened. She was afraid that if she started talking about it, she'd never stop, and most likely end up breaking down and crying all over again, not being able to function.

Then again, it has been a while. She looked at the strange man sitting next to her once more, who stared back at her with that penetrating face. However, there was something else about him then that she couldn't quite explain. Like he would easily understand what she was feeling, what she was going through. Sam was secretly surprised with herself at how easily she was able to tell him all that she'd said so far, especially after just a short amount of time. He was right; he _did_ have a tell-all face.

She supposed that, after all this time, it didn't hurt to try.

"He…" her voice cracked, and she swallowed before clearing her throat. "He…shot himself. He— he took his own life."

She pressed her lips together and stared down at her hands in her lap, which were clutching her coat. She could practically sense the weight of the Doctor's gaze on her for what felt like minutes. She braced herself for his oncoming response. Then it came and she flinched, as the response turned out to be his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. She looked down at his hand, then up to its owner. When she met his gaze, he suddenly looked uncertain, and awkwardly patted her shoulder before slowly retracting his hand.

"Sorry, I— I'm not really the 'hugging' type."

Sam couldn't help it: she breathed out a small laugh. "It's fine," she said after a moment, trying to force down her smile. "Neither am I."

The Doctor smirked at her, before it vanished completely. "I truly am sorry, though— about your loss."

"Yeah," she whispered, her automatic answer to whenever people say that.

"So I assume you're not doing so well."

"No, to be honest," she began softly. She watched a stray leaf flow freely in the wind across her path with a troubled face. "I mean, I know it's been five months. People say that it'll get better…but it hasn't. Not really. I've been having trouble sleeping, I keep getting all these dark thoughts— sometimes it gets so bad I start crying for no reason."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," the Doctor muttered, and Sam believed him. After a moment of silence, he asked, "What was your uncle like?"

Sam managed a broken smile at this question. "He was the greatest," she said. "Besides the fact that he was an even bigger geek about books and shows and movies than I'll ever hope to be, he was smart, and funny, and always loving. He always sat and talked with me when no one else did at our family gatherings. We would make jokes, talk about the next superhero movie coming out, or what book we were reading. He never judged me, and he loved me for who I am."

Sam's smile widened a little as she continued to reminisce. "But it wasn't just me. He loved _all_ of us. Family was the most important thing to him than anything else. He was the one who wanted orchestrate most of our holiday parties. We spent every Fourth of July at his house, playing games, watching the annual fireworks go off right outside the backyard with him. And oh, you should've seen him with his grandkids. They were his whole world. He adored those kids like nothings else, loving them and spoiling them rotten, letting them stay over…"

She trailed off, realizing that she was starting to ramble. She looked at the Doctor, who was smiling. She cleared her throat, feeling her face blush a little. "Um, anyway, yeah…he was great."

"He certainly sounds like a great man," the Doctor commented.

"Yeah." Then Sam's smile faded away as she took out her note again, gazing down at it forlornly. "But I guess that's what makes his death all the more sad. He always _looked_ happy enough whenever I saw him, and whenever he was with his family. I mean, I knew that the last several months of his life were rough; he had that knee surgery, taking all that medicine to help with the pain he was in, and was taking days off of work to get better. But I didn't really think of the possibility that there was something wrong with him so much that he would even consider…"

Her voice cracked once more as she felt a lump growing in her throat, making her sound hoarse. Her vision grew blurry with more tears. Her grip on the note tightened, her hand trembling as the tears began to fall. "But what's really eating me up about all this is that I…I didn't see him that often at the time, even though I really wanted to. I never got to tell him that I got accepted to my dream college. I never got to tell him anything…not even goodbye. Perhaps if I had called him and talked to him, helped him work out his problems, he probably would still be here, but I didn't— just because I was too caught up in my own stupid life."

Sam choked out a sob, putting a hand to her face in an attempt to wipe herself dry, but the tears kept on coming. She knew she had these thoughts and feelings of guilt, and that she's had them for a long time, but this was the first time she actually spoke the words out loud to another person. Just hearing them broke her heart.

"Hey, hey," the Doctor said, putting his hand on her shoulder again, only this time, it stayed there, squeezing lightly, as he shifted his position on the bench so that he was facing her completely, moving closer to her. Sam removed her hand from her face and looked up at him, and was surprised to find him looking at her with an expression that was somewhere between stern and gentle.

"Now you listen to me, Sam," he said, "That's a terrible thing for anyone to live with, and I should know. But it wasn't your fault— no, it really wasn't. There was nothing you could've done."

"But—"

"Think about the rest of your family. Think of your parents, your uncle's family, his children. You think they don't feel the same way that you do right now? Of course they do. But that doesn't make it their fault, either. We all believe that if we did things differently, we could change the outcome of our future, but we shouldn't dwell too much on it and end up forgetting that whatever happened has already happened. Otherwise, we'll _never_ be satisfied with anything. We'll never be happy."

"I— I guess," Sam stammered. She took a few deep breaths, calming herself down from her crying for the second time that day. She wiped her face again and sniffed. "Sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be," the Doctor said. He took his hand off her and scooted back to his original position, giving her more room. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands folded over his bottom lip. He furrowed his brows together into a scrutinizing frown, thinking. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he spoke up again.

"I had these two friends, a while back. They traveled with me for a quite a bit, and they got married."

"Oh?" Sam glanced at him, an eyebrow slightly raised. "They got married? Did they make you feel like a third wheel or something?"

The Doctor shot her a look. "No—" But then he stopped himself short, thinking about it for a second. "Well…you— you know what, it doesn't matter! Shut up, I'm trying to make a point here!"

Sam bit her lip, trying not to smirk at the strange man. She listened as he continued. "Anyway, even after they got married, we were still the best of friends, and they traveled with me from time to time. We had the best of times together. They were very dear to me."

"'Were,'" Sam murmured with a small frown. "What happened to them?"

The Doctor looked back at her, his intense face softening. Sam blinked in astonishment, not expecting that sharp, cold exterior to break whatsoever. After a long pause, he answered her, his voice low, grim, and enclosed, "I lost them." He looked away, his gaze becoming distant, a shocking mixture of longing and regret; so hurt a face he made that it made Sam think that he more than just lost his friends. It was deeper, more painful, that she couldn't imagine what it was. "After that, I basically shut myself away from everyone and everything else. I was like that for quite a while…a bit like you are right now."

"I…I'm sorry," Sam said quietly, not knowing what else to say.

"Me too, and there are some days where they're all I think about, and I can't stop thinking about them, whether I want to or not. But the thing is...I'm not as sad about it anymore."

"How do you mean?"

"Don't get me wrong, I wish they were still here with me, and by God do I miss them. But all of those dark thoughts— those nagging doubts and guilt that you're feeling right now— they'll all soon fade. And pretty soon you'll start thinking of nothing but all the good times— the _best_ times— that you had with your uncle, and how much you loved him."

"How long did it take you to get to that stage?"

The corner of the Doctor's lips quirked up into the faintest hint of a wry smile. "A _very_ long time for me, by your standards. But most likely not so long for you. It does take a while, though. I'm not saying that you'll fully heal. No one ever truly does after a loss. There will still be pain, and sometimes those dark thoughts will come back at full force, but all you have to do is remind yourself of those good times and learn to forgive yourself all over again."

Sam gazed wordlessly at him for a long time, then looked back down at the note in her hand. She flattened the crease marks on it, reading it over again. "Yeah…I think I get what you mean," she said softly. She half-smiled. Then she offered the note over to the Doctor, in which he took it. He read it over, his smile widening as he did so.

He let out a low chuckle before handing the paper back to her. "Sounds like sage advice to live by."

She laughed lightly along with him. "Yeah, right."

When their laughter died down, Sam asked warily, "Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Your two friends, what were their names?"

The Doctor didn't look offended with her question. In fact, he kept his smile when he answered, "Rory Williams and Amelia Pond."

Sam smiled back. "Good names."

"Yes, yes they are."

Sam was about to say more, but just as she was beginning to open her mouth, she heard it. It sounded like a faint humming, which at first she thought was thunder, but she was proven wrong as the sound transformed into a loud groaning, creaking sort of noise. Sam straightened and looked around her in alarm, her hair whipping about her face as the wind picked up even more. The noise moaned in and out, like the rhythm of a clock. It was unlike anything she had ever heard before. It sounded…otherworldly. Then she turned and saw where it was coming from, and she couldn't believe her eyes. Not too far from where they were sitting, a large, blue box with a flashing light on top of it was materializing out of nowhere, until finally, it took a solid physical form. The sound stopped along with it.

 _What the heck?_ Sam thought as she gazed at the strange box in amazement.

The Doctor, on the other hand, had a much different reaction to the phenomenon. His smile spread into a grin of delight. "Ah! And she's back!" he cried out as he leaped to his feet and ran over to it.

Sam stood up, slowly following him, eyes still glued to the box, taking in every detail of it as she got closer. Meanwhile the Doctor walked around it, stroking it and checking it over. There were bright, panned windows on the upper half of the front door and the sides. And just above the door, in very bright white letters, were the words: **POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX.**

There was also a little door on the left side of the front with a white sign that read: **POLICE TELEPHONE…FREE FOR USE OF PUBLIC…ADVICE & ASSISTANCE OBTAINABLE IMMEDIATELY…OFFICER & CARS RESPOND TO ALL CALLS…PULL TO OPEN.**

"No freaking way," Sam whispered. "He wasn't lying."

"Well, she seems to be in working order again," the Doctor said in relief, patting the side of the box affectionately. Then he turned to Sam with a rather smug smile. "So, what do you think?"

Shaking her head, she turned to him and managed a grin, putting her hands on her hips. "Well, I did say that your box would come back eventually, didn't I?"

The Doctor laughed. "Indeed, you did."

"Yeeeaaah…I just didn't think it would really happen," she mumbled to herself before speaking normally for him to hear. "So, um…I guess this means you're leaving, then."

The Doctor's smile faded a little. "Well, yes…I suppose so. But, if you want to…" he trailed off, not finishing the sentence. But for some reason, Sam had a clue as to what he was going to say.

"I really should get home," she told him. "My family's probably starting to worry about me."

He nodded. "Yeah, they probably are. You don't want that happening," he said, almost grudgingly.

He reached out to open the front door.

Just as he was about to step inside, Sam called out, "Doctor."

"Yes?" He looked back at her.

Sam smiled genuinely at him. "Thank you, for everything that you said. It helped me. It really did."

The Doctor mirrored her smile. "You're welcome, Sam. You better not forget it, or I'll come right back."

She laughed. "I won't…but I wouldn't mind if you came back anyway."

The Doctor blinked, not saying anything for a moment, but then his smile came back. "Maybe I will, then. Watch out for the big blue box, Sam."

She nodded.

"Now, I've told you that this box disappears on its own. Now see it disappear by _my_ handiwork!"

With that, he closed the door, disappearing inside the strange box. Sam waited a minute, curious of what was going to happen next. Then it happened: the wheezing, groaning noise picked up again, and the box slowly began to dematerialize. Sam watched the scene unfold, transfixed. Finally, the box vanished, without leaving a trace that it was ever there.

Sam was all alone in park again.

But this time, she didn't feel as lonely. Her spirits were lifted, if only a little, by the words of a man who came and went like a breeze.

"Goodbye, Doctor. Thanks again," Sam whispered. Then, taking a cleansing breath of the cold winter air, she regathered herself and started walking along the park trail once again toward home. She never forgot about the conversation she had with the Doctor— that strange man with the blue box. And she took his words to heart. There were still times when she felt sad and miserable, but then she would remember his advice, his comfort. It was hard, but slowly, she would be able to piece herself back together again. She was also more open about telling others about how she felt.

Often times, she would wonder what exactly that Doctor did in his time. He'd mentioned traveling a lot, as well as something about his box traveling through time and space. It all sounded impossible to her. But then again, so was the idea of a box appearing and disappearing on its own.

She also never forgot him saying that he'd come back to see her someday.

But that's an entirely different story.


End file.
